THE BANANA POEM CHALLENGE Here's an idea that came from UK Poet, Liv Torc and I am more than happy to bend with it. After the quite serious nature of my last post, this was a most welcome, frivolous and enjoyable distraction. Write a poem on a banana every day for a term, a week, a month or for as many days as you can be bothered. Send them to school with your kids, or invite your kids to write their very own (make sure they agree, -consensual bananas only) and see what happens. In time we may become members of a new banana republic!  At the very least we can trigger a real banana revolution together. I have not considered other fruit forms, and this project is certainly not recommended for fruit you just happen to randomly meet in the supermarket aisle... Are you ready to go bananas? It's once again Poetry Friday and our genial host this week is Elisabeth Norton at Unexpected Intersections   .   Elisabeth is celebrating the writing of Jane Yolen, the acclaimed writ...

 Sometimes  poets  experience a strong need to respond to current events -global or local. Poets across many generations have frequently taken a position on matters enacting around them. They raise their voices, they speak out and  write their words.   Sometimes they are directly affected, at other times they are keen observers...  For this reason I felt compelled to write about the sad events currently occurring in Afghanistan, a country that has already endured two long decades of war and disruption. There is so much uncertainty surrounding life for the vast majority of the Afghan people. I am aware of my ineffectualness here, but I must speak my truth at this time.  I am both sad and angry regarding this lamentable outcome. My words reflect deep disillusionment regarding past and present actions. Life and poetry often converge in the thoughts arising from these emotional peaks and troughs we all encounter. Afghanistan Falling Weak resol...

 Across  the course of our lives we can expect many significant moments. Some directly impact our lives, while others happen on the world stage and impact indirectly. Sometimes, we recall exactly where we were and what we were doing at a precise moment in time. Our recall often remains crystal clear on these events and not others.  It is amazing the memories we retain.  We often hear the question -where were you when...?  This poem is a narrative poem in a docu-poetry style.  It forms part of a collection of anthology of poems I am writing celebrating events that occurred during my fortunate teenage years growing up in the semi rural town of Monbulk situated in the Dandenong Ranges approximately 60 kilometres from the city of Melbourne. This poem contains  a sense of history and nostalgia. Reference has also been to certain items which with the passing of year have become obsolete.  You will note  a few Australian references have been include...

I quite like quirky news stories and go looking for them in newspapers whether in print or on-line. It is a diversion from the endless tsunami of bad news to which the media frequently flocks.  There is gold to be found among all that negativity. We just need to bring our keen observer's eye. I urge poets of all ages to strike out as text detectives in search of the unconventional and unusual, the wacky and the weird.  The recent story of the diver who was swallowed and then spat out by a humpback whale is one such amazing story.  I  make sure to keep these stories in my notebook for later reference. This story regarding attempts re-introduce beavers to urban London caught my eye immediately. It has also allowed me to revisit the Triversen poem structure. Beavers Are Returning to Tottenham   After some considerable time away Beavers are returning To inner London.   The fair folk of Tottenham Want them back Living wild and free.   Th...

When the Covid Pandemic spread across the world, I began a number of projects as a reaction to some of the pessimism that arose within my community and beyond. I became inspired by the incredible creativity that also arose at this time in various parts of the world. Some great diversionary tactics were called upon to stop a predictable descent into darker places.  I felt a need to act. One of my Projects was The Poet Tree which I have previously documented. I started this project in August 2020. At that time I decided to post a poem on a large eucalypt tree in the reserve directly behind our house. We are able to access this greened space via a gate. Every day people walk  along this greened, open area with their dogs, children, friends. The idea I had in mind was to share a short poem sprinkled with humour and optimism in the hope it would lift the collective spirits- mine included. Occasionally, other poets attach poems to the tree. I have also received feedback in the form...

I was introduced to the Clunker Exchange by fellow poet, Linda Mitchell. Linda shared a list of lines she considered 'clunkers' (lines of poetry that didn't quite work for her or 'click seamlessly into place).  Linda invited her readers to take one or more of those lines and see if they could make something of those  clunkers . She was also willing to accept one of our own clunkers in exchange for one of those on her list. So I selected one and left one in return. I am not going to reveal the exact clunker I lifted from Linda's list, but I am more than happy to share the poem I have made in which the line now rests. Happily I hope... Some Ground Rules   Sometimes the rules are laid down Carved in stone, Inflexible, Absolute, And quite unforgiving -Trust and obey for there’s no other way Sometimes the rules appear open to interpretation The umpire’s call, The magistrates merciful whim. Sometimes the rules Are there to keep us in Sometimes ...

Recently dug out and reread some anthologies dealing with the theme of school life.  'Please Mrs Butler' Allan Ahleberg, 1983 'Heard It In the Playground' Allan Ahlberg, 1989 'Everything All At Once' Steve Camden, 2018 I personally have written a number of poems dealing with this theme across the years, but not enough to consider a themed anthology.  So it prompted to write some more. Maybe, just maybe,  it might morph into a future poetry project. The idea of a themed anthology appeals... Here's a recent addition to my collection.  Friday, Last Period Friday afternoon Last period Biology With Mr Mendel He’s talking about natural selection And the length of a giraffe’s neck -don’t think his words are getting through though… The classroom is filled with the heavy air of a steamy afternoon Hot and close We sit here waiting for the bell to put us out of our misery The sweet call of a yum-yum weekend is calling to us Looking around I noti...

One of my poetry projects has been to create an anthology of poems related to my childhood years growing up in a small, semi rural town, Monbulk, 43 kilometres east of Melbourne. Monbulk was originally known as Monbolok or Monbolac - a local Wurrundjeri aboriginal word meaning 'hiding place in the hill.'    It was a place with abundant temperate forests as well as a strong farming community specializing in produce, orchards, plant nurseries, tulip farms and berry farms. So my poems are about place and related to the adventures and experiences that so informed  my formative years. The two poems I am sharing come from a period when I was about 12 years old and spent an abundance of time exploring the forest at the base of the valley, below our house. They focus upon perspectives from a small bridge.  The forest presented something of a wonderland for a curious child, providing endless opportunities to walk, run and ride my bike along the bushland tracks running beside ...